


the casualty of everything

by fictorium



Category: Supergirl (TV 2015)
Genre: Assassination Attempt(s), Assassins & Hitmen, CEO Cat Grant, F/F, Femslash
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2018-05-10
Updated: 2018-05-10
Packaged: 2019-05-04 23:01:58
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,613
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/14603637
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/fictorium/pseuds/fictorium
Summary: Assassin AU. It's nagging at me, so there may be further parts.





	the casualty of everything

**Author's Note:**

> title from an Amelia Curran song.

Cat makes it home from work sometime after eleven. What’s the point in rushing to an empty penthouse? Carter is safely tucked up at his father’s, their nightly goodnight call made two hours ago. Kicking off her shoes and dropping her coat on the hall floor just to give the housekeeper something to tut about, Cat heads straight for her sitting room and the discreet bar in one corner. It’s only when her two fingers of Scotch are poured that she speaks. 

“How long have you been standing there? You’re blocking the light for my plants.”

The quietest half-taken breath is the only response. This one isn’t going to rush. A faint tingle of fear runs down Cat’s spine. She’s had the upper hand on previous occasions because men underestimate her, they always have. There’s something about this silhouette that says, although tall and muscular, they’ve sent a woman this time. 

Just when it was getting tiresome, a fresh twist. Cat’s love of a good story has the electricity humming in her veins at once. 

“Well, some idiot didn’t refill the ice bucket, so I’ll be in the kitchen,” she explains. “You know, when you’re ready for your dramatic entrance.”

No sound this time, not even a twitch. Cat sighs, padding back through her home on stockinged feet, making a beeline for the freezer. She usually has her whisky neat, but the kitchen has always been her first line of defense. Sure, the knives and open flames help, but since she’s never had much need for a pantry, Cat long ago turned it into an armory-cum-panic-room. If this one’s any good, she might actually get to use it. 

Heading for the freezer, she has the second ice cube in her drink before a gentle breeze blows across the back of her neck. Company. Wait, how the hell did this woman get from the sitting room to the kitchen balcony without-

“Hello, Ms Grant.”

Suddenly the body at her back, pressing Cat against the chrome finish of her fridge, where other people might allow children’s drawings and tacky magnets. 

“So formal,” Cat grits out, her cheek shoved against the metal surface a little harder than she’s happy about. She trained for this. No point in showing her hand just yet. Let another one think she’s pampered and fragile. “Please tell me you’re not the monologue type, because honestly I’ve had a bit of a day.”

A firm grip on her wrist, leveraging her arm up her back but stopping just short of wrenching it. Her glass, naturally, shatters on the floor a second later. “You don’t sound scared, Ms-”

“Call me Cat. It’s the least you can do, given the circumstances.”

“Cat.”

“Well, aren’t you obedient for a contract killer?” Cat doesn’t get to add to her wisecrack, because she’s turned suddenly, her shoulderblades bearing the brunt of impact as she’s slammed against the fridge doors again. There’s a hand over her mouth - no gloves, the skin paper dry and not clammy at all. It gives Cat pause that this girl doesn’t even seem a little nervous. Girl is right, she can see now. Mid-twenties at best, without so much as a ski mask to hide the fact. Long blonde hair, in need of a deep condition, sparkling blue eyes that seem oddly devoid of emotion. 

Shit. This time they’ve gone with a psychopath, not just a mercenary. Whoever’s responsible this time - Lord, Edge, Luthor - Cat’s going to eviscerate them for months in print. She’ll put them out of business for good. Assuming, that is, she actually survives this one. Her knees feel a little weak at the thought, and they pretty much turn to water with the prick of a knife just above her breastbone. 

Only the assassin’s hand is holding her up, clamped over the lower part of Cat’s face. Effortlessly, it would seem. This is one strong girl. Cat closes her eyes, sees only the reddish imprint of the lights on the inside of her eyelids. She searches frantically for an image of Carter’s face, of Adam’s even, but there’s only burning darkness and the taste of aluminium on her tongue. 

“Please,” she mumbles against the hand, and somehow that’s enough to startle Blondie into letting her go. 

Cat darts for the pantry, but there’s no way she was going to make it, even before her legs betray her. She lands hard, scrambling undignified on her ass so at least her back ends up against the door. If she can hit it three times the cops will come. She should never have been so cocky as to try to handle this alone. 

“Whatever they’re paying you,” she says, the words coming out like a gasp. “I’ll double. My sons, they need me. My company needs me. Name your price and you can take out whoever sent you, too.”

The blonde tilts her head, like no one’s ever tried to bargain with her before. “I don’t want to fight you,” Cat persists. “I know it doesn’t look like it, but I’ve had training. We do it my way, you walk out of here rich.”

“Was that training to fight off human assassins?” The girl asks. “Because there’s really no way to defend yourself against me.”

Suspicion confirmed. This is the alien vigilante who’s been hiding in the shadows for months. Cat’s thrown every reporting resource she has at the story, but no one’s been able to find the shady figure. It’s the universe’s latest big joke to drop her into Cat’s lap like this. 

“Daxamite?” Cat tries, enjoying the way the girl bristles in response. “No, too pretty. Kryptonian?”

A nod. Is that… the hint of a blush at being called pretty? “You are also beautiful. Surveillance did not do you justice.”

“Aren’t you kind?” Cat flirts, just a little. God help her, but it is a little hot to have someone young, fit, and gorgeous coming after her. “Creepy, sure. But very kind. What’s your name?”

“It doesn’t matter…” The girl flips the knife readily in her hand. It isn’t a big blade, but it almost slices the atoms in the air it’s so sharp. Cat swallows, hard. “Kara. My name is Kara. If I’m to kill you, I suppose you deserve that much.”

“Don’t.” Cat doesn’t mean to state it as a command, and it takes them both by surprise. “I mean, you don’t have to. Like I said… I can pay. Give you new job satisfaction. Hell, I can turn you into a hero if you start going after the right targets. National City needs some cleaning up.”

“There are people who say you need to be cleaned up,” Kara says. “But I think these are people who are scared of the truth. Your newspapers, your stations… you like to expose bad people.”

Cat eases back to standing, using the door for support. If she’s going to activate the alarm, that window is ever diminishing. Still, she hesitates. Kara may have the knife but she isn’t coming any closer.

“Only the worst,” Cat agrees. “I believe in the truth. However inconvenient.”

Something in those lifeless blue eyes sparks then. “Truth,” Kara repeats, as though learning the word in another language, testing how it feels on her tongue. Oh God, this is no time to be thinking about her tongue and what it might… “Justice,” comes the next word, one that makes Kara smile.

“Justice, yes.” Cat takes a tentative step, and Kara mirrors the action. “Put that knife down and we can talk. I think seeking justice would suit you, Kara.”

“They made me this way,” Kara whispers. “I don’t want to do this.”

“Of course not,” Cat says. One more half-step. “The knife?”

Kara throws it over her shoulder. It flies with considerably speed, embedding in the wall with an intensity that gives Cat pause. 

“What do you want, Kara?” They’re too close now. Close enough to touch. Too close not to. Cat raises her hand and lays trembling fingers on Kara’s cheek. “What do you want?”

Kara kisses her as a response, and holy fuck was Cat right about the tongue. It’s a heady, breathless kiss, one that says Kara is barely holding on. Cat can handle that. She’s been dealing with that her whole life. This time, when she backs Cat against the wall, it’s much more gentle. 

“Do we have a deal?” Cat asks, Kara kissing her neck. It’s the closeness to her jugular that makes asking necessary, and it seems that they both hold their breath for a moment.

“Yes,” Kara murmurs, the word vibrating against Cat’s bared skin. “We’ll seek justice. I work for you now.”

“That’s all it took? Me asking nicely?” Cat pushes Kara just enough to see her face again. “Really?”

Kara shrugs, her black denim jacket stiff around the movement. It looks good with her leather pants, admittedly. “No one ever tried that before. It’s always threats, begging, bravado. You made me a better offer. You respected me as a professional.”

“Okay, enough with the performance evaluation,” Cat says, barely suppressing the urge to roll her eyes. “Let’s see what you’ve got, Kara.”

Kara picks Cat up bodily then, guiding her legs around Kara’s slender waist. “Don’t worry, I already know where the bedroom is.”

It should scare her, again, but damn if it isn’t turning some twisted part of of Cat on instead. She tangles her fingers in Kara’s long hair, kissing her deeply.

“Then let’s go,” she instructs when the kiss ends. “All this standing around is going to be the first thing to go.”

Kara smiles, broad and easy, and Cat just can’t help smiling back.


End file.
